


More or Less The Same

by aflaminghalo



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflaminghalo/pseuds/aflaminghalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The babies, they grow up so fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More or Less The Same

Despite the fact that it was almost completely food oriented, Saturday morning at the open air market was not an activity that scored high on Brad’s list of preferred activities. Mostly he thought of it as a benign form of torture and marked it down as one of the ways in which he could indulge Nate; a payment in kind for the indulgence Nate treated so many of Brads own interests with. Besides, as he knew from experience, at some point they would become separated and Brad would be free from his obligation of making agreeable, if non-committed, noises about stuff. Eventually Nate would retrieve him and they would go for lunch at one of the booths, eat oversized sandwiches, drink beer and observe the crush of life forms littering the waterfront.  
But that was still waiting for them. Right now they were still wandering, like Ancient Mariners, from stall to stall looking for something that managed at once to be unknown and yet still very specific.  
Brad took a breath and leant back against the sun warmed wall of the ceramics store Nate had disappeared into, muttering darkly about his sister's anniversary and her kitchen concept. He sympathised with Nate's plight, he really did, but not enough to join him in pottery hell. He shut his eyes and consciously relaxed.

 

Footsteps a beat too slow and a shadow falling over him were what roused Brad from his doze, tripping the switches in that critical channel of his mind that was always ticking over, always cataloguing and observing and dismissing.  
“Hey Sergeant, long time no see.”  
It took Brad a moment to place the young man standing in front of him, first a dark silhouette against the too bright light and then familiar.  
“Trombley, you little maladjust.”  
Brad shrugged himself to stand and they stepped together, into a hug and a back-slap. Brad stepped back to scrutinise the changes in the younger man.  
The last time he'd seen Trombley had been at the last reunion before Brad had left for Britain. James had still been a kid, or Brad had still seen him as a kid; trying too hard to impress with opinions he'd caught like viruses, full of impulses that had no purpose or logic, and not always getting it. There was a man standing in front of him now though, less soft and uncertain and obviously calculating. His eyes met Brads and it was easy. He'd grown up.  
“Well, I don’t recall the newspapers warning of a serial dog shooter on the loose. So either you’ve single-handedly turned this town into a dog free zone, repented your poodle snuffing ways or… have you decided to turn your talents in a more constructive direction?”  
Trombley laughed briefly and ducked his head at the memory. “Well, no, I… When I got out I decided to try being a police officer.” He shrugged. “Janie wanted me to have something more stable in case we had a family I guess, and I wanted to keep my guns. Turns out I like it anyway, so... I’m not on duty today though.”

He still spoke in the slouchy manner of a teenager but Brad guessed he must be twenty-six, twenty-seven by now. It had been a long time. He wondered what Trombleys co-workers thought about him being armed and legal? Trombley the boy had always been a scarily and comfortingly good shot; he'd just lacked some of the more necessary psychological processes that kept a person on the right side of being a psychopath.  
“So now you uphold the law and ensure that the good people of Los Angeles sleep safe in their beds. I warned you Trombley, women will get you.” Brad smiled openly. “How’s that working out for you?”  
Trombley looked past Brad to a child's shriek of over-excitement coming from a little way up the side-walk; his mouth twitched up into a wry half smile. “Actually, Janie and me split a couple of years back. But other than that, marriage is great. It just...”  
“I was thinking, maybe we could try that new Cuban place we saw near the ...”  
Nate let his sentence trail off as he stepped out of the shop to stand at Brad’s side, the hand he’d stretched out suddenly indecisive, before being brought to rest firmly on Brad’s back. Even now Nate wasn’t completely comfortable with public displays of affection but it often seemed to Brad that it was Nate’s own reticence that spurred him on into making them. Right now that hand was pressed tight against the back of Brad’s ribcage.  
Brad watched as a streak of shocked horror flashed across Nate’s face before resolving into a forced smile; the kind of smile Brad hadn't seen Nate wear in a long time.  
“C'mon Nate, If I've not managed to forget the platoons pet psycho yet, I know you haven't.”  
Trombley shot a look between the two, his eyes widening to near comical proportions and the tops of his ears pinking in what Brad knew had always been a tell of embarrassment. His mind flashed through a few of Trombley's more memorable anti-fag rants and he braced himself for the outburst.  
It never arrived. Instead, Trombley checked himself; smiled awkwardly and readily and stretched a hand out to Nate, the tips of his ears still pink. “It’s good to see you Sir.”  
Nate’s face relaxed almost imperceptibly as he took Trombley’s offered hand with the one he'd had rested on Brads back.  
“You too James. How've you been keeping?”  
Brad tried not to gawp or stare too obviously as Nate made the polite and interested inquiries that were half the manners his parents had been ingrained during childhood, and half genuine interest.  
The man standing in front of them looked like Trombley, spoke like Trombley, and yet… Brad knew that people could change, did change, often beyond recognition, but that was not the reaction he had anticipated at all.  
Maybe marriage had been good for Trombley. Or maybe Brad was slipping. Either possibility was disturbing.

“J, I’ve been looking everywhere…”  
At the harassed shout Trombley looked down at his watch and winced slightly. A young man with brown hair and eyes jogged up to stand beside Trombley, reaching out to touch his hand, quickly, inconspicuously. He smiled at the two men in front of him with a guarded curiosity.  
Trombley turned to face the new man. “Mark, this is Brad Colbert and Nate Fick. I served with them.” He didn’t qualify the statement.  
Marks smile eased, their names obviously familiar to him, as he slowly shifted, trying to create space between his body and that of the man at his side whilst simultaneously trying not to draw attention to what he was doing.  
For a moment Brad wished that Nate's hand was still on his back.  
He wondered if that was how he and Nate had seemed people – obvious but trying not to be. Not ashamed, just men who'd been trained to give nothing away and who were still caught in that habit.  
There was a quiet moment of hands being shaken before Trombley spoke again.  
“Mark's my partner.” He didn’t specify whether he meant life or work.  
“We actually met the first day of academy, and I just can't seem to shake him.” Mark smiled and turned to Trombley, “Your Mom wants pictures and says she’s going to replace you with Claire’s balloon. She’s given it a lipstick mouth and is threatening to tag it as you on Facebook.”  
Trombley scowled, looking all of nineteen again and being warned away from the dogs. “Sorry Sergeant. She’s visiting and is all about family now. It’s actually kind of creepy.” He perked up slightly. “You wanna come see?”  
“Actually James, he's going to spend this afternoon dealing with my Mother. Maybe we should try to give him a fighting chance.”  
Nate’s voice was laughing but there was a hint of friendly authority in the tone. Enough to make Trombley agree with the suggestion but only seem a little disappointed. Brad was sure Trombley didn't want to have to navigate the awkwardness that was between them anymore than he did.  
“Yeah, we should get back anyway. It was good to see you Sergeant, and you, Lieutenant.”  
“You too Trombley. Stay away from the pound, ok.”  
Trombley laughed to a questioning look from Mark. “Even the strays.”

 

“Jesus, Nate,” Brad watched the two men disappear into the crowds that filled the square, “Trombley.”  
“You didn’t see that coming?” Brad could hear the unspoken reference, the one he would never live down, and the quiet amusement in Nate’s voice.  
“You think this is funny…”  
“No.” Nate drew the word out slowly.  
The smile in Nate’s voice irked Brad. Couldn't he see how ridiculous the whole encounter was, how completely against the natural order of things?  
Brad turned to face Nate and ensure his glare was properly felt, determined to defend… he wasn’t quite sure what. Nate smirked, openly. “You ready for that beer now?”  
Brad deflated. “Yeah.”  
He sighed and let himself be pulled out into the crowd.


End file.
